Today you are eleven years old.
Eleven is a weird age. There isn't the novelty of being in double digits, but you're not quite a teen. You're in full-on tween-dom. Which is weird.
On one hand, you're still a kid, still very much attached to me, still loving on me like you did when you were a toddler. You still hug me and tell me that you love me multiple times a day. You still have an extraordinary willingness to show me your physical bizness as the situation calls for it - "mom, I have a rash!" - while bending over and revealing all. Oy.
On the other hand, in true teen-adjacent fashion, EVERYTHING IS EMBARRASSING!!
You were horrified last Friday when we made our ill-fated trip to a local haunted house and Josie was so terrified of the prospect of what was to come that she burst into tears and refused to go in at all. That wasn't the embarrassing part - what upset you was my effort to go get my money back for the cost of Josie's and my tickets. "Mom, don't!! Can't we just go home???"
I'm not allowed to talk to you while you're playing PS4 with your friends while wearing your headset, because god forbid they hear me telling you to come eat your dinner, or reminding you to get off the game because it's bedtime.
A couple of weeks ago I picked you up at school and you were in tears because your teacher made some innocuous comment that could have possibly been interpreted to accuse you of looking at your girlfriend rather than at your work.
"It's the most embarrassing thing that's ever happened to me!" you wailed.
Sigh.
Things are not easy for you right now.
You're living with me full-time because things between you and your dad are not great. So in addition to the normal mercurial nature of being eleven - the normal feelings associated with early puberty and having crushes, trying to act like you were created in a petri dish so that you can pretend your parents don't exist, generally being a dick to your sister- you're often sad and anxious and grumpy ON TOP of all that.
It's not so much fun for either of us. We fight a lot. We push each others' buttons. We don't get time away from each other.
I get no time to myself, period.
But there will be moments when everything between us feels perfect. Little moments.
Last night you were feeling sore - I think you're having some growing pains - and asked me to massage your back. So I was working on your back muscles, and then I had you lie on your back so I could help you with some stretches. And then I lay down next to you and you curled into me, and we were joking and laughing about something, all snuggled up. I showed you a picture I have on my phone of you as a baby.
"Who's that good looking fella?" I asked.
And we were smiling and talking, feeling relaxed and happy.
You have told me I am your safe person - the one person you feel you can totally rely on when you're sad or upset or scared. You trust me completely. You tell me everything, good or bad.
Sometimes being that person can be exhausting and anxiety producing. You have said, in so many words, "I can't function without you."
I feel so much responsibility to make everything OK.
But in moments like the one last night, I feel the privilege of being the one you open up to. I feel utterly, overwhelmingly loved and appreciated.
You are a complicated, difficult, delightful, intelligent, interesting, beautiful human being. I created you, and you are mine and I am yours. It is a great gift.
To say that I love you seems woefully inadequate. You are a part of me in every sense. You fill my heart.
Everything's going to be OK. I will help you and make it OK.
All my love,
Mom
